Crazy, Insane, Out of the Ordinary...

February 14, 2008
Crazy, insane, out of the ordinary—yet marvelously magnificent, it was. In the middle of nowhere lived a house—yes, lived. No one knew why and no one knew how; they only knew an old man had built it in the late 1970s. He built it, and never came out afterward. Or did he? Trees and leaves and rocks swamp both his backyard and front yard. Therefore, it was almost impossible to see if and when he did.

Though the mail came, he did not posses a mailbox, and anything that was thrown into his yard was never seen again—no matter what "it" was.

It's been said that he had a cat named Rexely—from the king's meadow—Rex for short. His house was made of bricks he had painted—or dyed—black. Mysterious enough for you? Oh, wait, you're probably sitting there reading these lines—my words—questioning in your clever mind how can a sixteen year old come up with this myth! I have seen it, felt it, lived it, and I intend to help you, too, do the same.

How, you ask? Do you believe in premonitions? They're warnings about future events or feelings of evil to come. No, I'm not talking about the movie—I', talking about the norm: reality.

Though I can see these things, I know not of when they shall happen, just the exclusive inside information—the five senses—all from only my dreams. Actually, I prefer to call them nightmares. The majority of what I see when I'm sleeping is not what I want to happen, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot prevent it from happening, especially since I am without knowledge of when it will happen.

Me? I'm just your average, everyday, headstrong, typical teenager who over uses words and speaks in I.M. to my friends, who may tend to be a tad bit insane and hyper at times, but no matter what, I'll still love them to death. Stephanie is my name—"Steph" for short.

Being a writer, I have only accomplished writing nonfiction; therefore, practically all of my pieces of work are merely pieces from my personal memoirs. So, how can I share them? Why have I chosen this route? Maybe I did because I need "stories" for my Creative Writing class? Or perhaps I'm tired of hiding it? I don't know why, and for now, the reason does not contain a purpose for being released. Unfortunately, some still do not understand.

When I dream it, my premonition is so clear—perhaps that's why I felt the urge to pull back and go against my mother October 14! During the summer of 2007, I had a dream...someone was attacking me, but this time, all I could see was a dark shadow. Why can I never see the ones I love? I can see others feelings while I'm sleeping and I can see anyone I want to, as long as they are not hurting me. Alas, on October 14, I learned who the dark shadow was, and I remember screaming in my sleep—why did it have to be my mother?

This is why I prefer daydreaming—they're not premonitions—I have never seen one come true. If I "daydream" at night right before I go to sleep, I dream about the daydream, and my dream may or may not come true, since it is absolutely wonderful, instead of dark and seeming evil.

Although it would be quite lovely if I could end this with "the premonitions are coming to an end and, soon, I will finally be able to live 'happily ever after,'" however, I cannot—ever. This is how God has made me, and I resolve to find out why.

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